Idle Hopes
by Libido
Summary: College had always been a back up plan, but he was beginning to consider it seriously. AKUROKU


Alright, hey there! Long time no post on this site, I know, it's madness! Anyway, so. Basically, let me sum up the reasoning behind this story.

I work at a small place called Pizza Hut. It's a miserable serving job, and it's absolutely atrocious, and so I wrote this. I figure I'll update after a particular trying day of work, or even when I think or experience something that could be rather funny. Not to say that this doesn't have an actual plot! It does! I'm totally planning on having more people in here, obviously, and as you saw from the description, it's going to be an AKUROKU story, to boot! I'm just saying that my super special waitress gig is the inspiration, and I dedicate this fic to all the Waiters, Waitresses, Hostesses, Barfolk, and Cooks who have to live in the fast food industry. Hats off to you!

**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing, or I wouldn't be a waitress, ah?

Keep in mind this was entirely unbeta'd, so any mistakes are mine to take the credit for, and I apologize if some parts are bad! I wrote this in about two hours, so it may still have some bumps to it. Ah, well. Enjoy!

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Work. Something so many people seemed to adore thinking about. Children spend their life working in school so they could only go to a _different_ school that cost them more money than they could ever make in their lifetimes. So, what, they could then go on to get an apartment, get a job, and start the menial task of a nine to five job every day except for Saturday and Sunday? Splendid. Those few who dared to dream of something other than the boring 'norm' were considered morons, idiots with their heads in the clouds, who would never get very far in life because they just didn't have any sort of 'realistic' expectation for themselves or for how their lives would be in the future. They would end up working at some fast food restaurant, hating their life, despising the future and every grubby, greasy little dollar they had to swipe at just to pay for their downtown loft apartment over an old biker bar which scared them just as much as it made them feel safe at night with all those bigger guys around doing Lord knows what until the early hours of the morning. Go figure.

"Where the hell is the dressing on this?" Growled an irritated-looking server, scowling at the slovenly-looking chef who stared at him rather uselessly, as if he wasn't getting paid five more dollars than the poor wait person to just stand there, throw some things into a bowl, evenly coat everything, then throw the contents back onto a plate before resuming his current occupation of apparently excavating the contents of his nostril for inspection by his mouth.

"There isn't _supposed_ to be dressing on it," said the man finally, frowning at the salad on the counter before looking back at the irate waiter.

"It's a _Caesar_ _salad_." said the man with a dumbfounded expression, looking at the man before him as though he were truly baffled as to how a man such as this could have passed high school and gotten a job that required more thought than licking stamps at a factory. How could this guy be making more money than him on a normal salary? Suddenly, however, his face grew furious instead of thoughtful at the man's stupidity, sneering, "Trust me when I say it has fucking dressing on it."

"Look, I read the goddamn thing three times, it doesn't have fucking dressing on it."

It was at this point that the server sat down the three plates he had lined up along each arm to the shoulder, setting them down with a wonderful sense of skill and balance as not a slice of cheese or French fry fell out of its place from before. With a sneer, the waiter snatched the instructions off of the preparation table's lid, ripping the corner of it angrily before he shoved it at the dumbfounded cook. "There's fucking dressing on it, got it memorized?" He snapped before reaching over and snapping gloves on, himself, snatching the dressing-less salad and pouring it into a dressing bowl before ladling in the proper amount of Caesar dressing, mixing it around and flipping the salad up, catching it all in the bowl once more before pouring it back into the serving dish once it was carefully coated. It was at this time that he heard the soft 'Oh' behind him.

"...I'm a fucking idiot." The cook muttered, staring at the laminated paper in his hand with a scowl, not looking up at the furious server who grunted something that sounded like a 'you're damn right you are', before lining the dishes back on his arms, balancing the final Caesar salad between his occupied hands before he stepped away from the kitchen and into the fray, rolling his eyes once more at the man that was supposed to be making $9.75 an hour for his hard work, compared to his own $4.25.

Of course, as soon as the waiter stepped into the fray, it was an entirely different ball game. A smooth smirk found its way onto pretty lips, the lithe figure practically dancing through the Friday night crowd, a mixture of basketball fans, soccer fans, dates, and kids eager to stay up past their normal bed time of nine o'clock sharp for school the next morning. "Oop, sorry sir- 'Cuse me, just comin' by, don't mind me- Oh, oh, oh, careful there, little guy, don't wanna get pasta on yourself, bud." The waiter said all these with only the most charming of grins, working the crowd even when there was nothing to gain from it. Customers really did notice the most_ strange_ things, after all.

Finally making it to a large booth in the back, the server smiled at the expectant looks he got. "Sorry about that, folks, there was a little mix up in the kitchen regarding this here salad." He nodded towards the final one in his grip as he began to deftly hand out the appetizers and the salads according to what he had memorized regarding who got what. "Alright, ranch over here, French for you, miss- Nice choice, by the way, always get it myself when I'm here- Caesar right here in front of you, sir. Now, wings... honey barbeque for you, spicy Asian for you, and... there we go, Garlic parmesan for you. How is everything, drinks, good? Need extra napkins or anything?" A chorus of 'no's met him. "Alright, you guys enjoy, I'll be back to check up on you guys later."

With that, he was off, once more weaving through the tangled mass of tables which were his, checking on drinks, handing out napkins, straws, and extra forks to whoever needed one as he smiled and schmoozed his way slowly to the back to the server station, where at least ten piles of assorted silverware met his gaze. The charming smirk left his pretty features, and what was left was a horrible scowl/sneer combination that was his default whenever he didn't have to practically beg for tips. "Who the hell just put the silverware through?" he growled, glancing at the bright blue glow of the computer telling him what time it was. A half an hour until nine, and then he could happily leave. He'd opened this morning at 9:45, so it would be a welcome change to finally get home before he hit the twelve hour mark. That is, if he actually managed to get out on time. His tables were wearing down, sure, but he didn't honestly think he would get of here before ten. He never did get out of work on time.

No one answered his growl, they had stopped a long time ago, figuring that taking responsibility for the action would only really do to piss him off more. It was after the silence that the server scowled and promptly tore off the small visor snapped tightly to his forehead, letting down the stubborn strands of hair that absolutely refused to remain calm and orderly, despite his best efforts.

Bright red hair complimented the color scheme of the building, spikes jutting out and apparent, despite the fact that the vast majority of them were held back in a tight ponytail high on his head by a horribly clashing pink and yellow hair tie. Skin appeared to be lightly tanned thanks to the lighting of the building, but in reality he was white pale, skin fair and unblemished in essentially every way. Upon his cheeks were two teardrop tattoos which appeared to shine in the light, as though there had been glitter infused into the ink which he had been tattooed with, and his eyes glowed like quite a creature from beyond, electric green, occasionally dipping blue, but mostly settling on the toxic teal color which was the in-between for both extremes. As Axel stood at the server's station, he scowled at the white board before him, telling him all sorts of inspirational things to get him motivated for the chore ahead. And it really _was_ a chore. Being a server fucking sucked.

Lithe fingers snatched at a clutch of napkins underneath the station, pulling a cluster of forks and knives to him as he began to quickly go through the process of rolling the silverware, folding first one corner up, than the other, before he began rolling them together and setting them aside, slowly making a pyramid he then expanded by the sides. Other servers came and went like flies, younger ones, older ones, all worried about the night that lay ahead of them, most of them wondering, vaguely, why Axel himself wasn't more concerned with it.

And why wasn't he?

Because Axel got off in half an hour. And Axel didn't honestly _care_ at this point. Clicking his bright orange pen open, Axel continued rolling silverware with one hand as he idly signed his initials on the list of chores he had to do before leaving, drawing an arrow after his first signature and dragging it down through the rest of the list, before resuming his rolling. "Axel, are you busy?" someone suddenly called from the dish room, and the redhead stiffened, biting the inside of his cheek. He could be rude to the cooks all he wanted, they were incompetent, but be mean to the servers meant that they wouldn't get your tips for you if you had to leave early. Being mean to the servers meant that they wouldn't cover for you if you got sick, or if you had to go to the bathroom or take a break. Being mean to other servers meant that your own time as a server was severely limited, and it would be good to transfer as soon as you could, to prevent loss in the future.

No, Axel wasn't busy. But he was off in half an hour. Just half an hour! Thirty measly minutes! All the same, "I can be depending on what you're asking," said the redhead finally, slim red brow raising as he set down the final piece atop his silverware tower, setting aside that piece of work before striding into the dish room, non-slick shoes once more something Axel needed to invest in as he idly did an awkward stride with his thighs carefully clenched to balance out any slipping he probably would have done on the miserable tile. Finally, Axel found a do-able piece of white plastic wall to lean on, and he did so, folding his arms and tapping a slim finger against his bicep. "What do you need?" He asked wearily.

"Well, I was just going to take a break real fast, could you maybe cover my tables and clean the banquet room for me? It shouldn't take too long, there was only a party of twelve in there..."

His scowl was apparent, and as the waitress looked up, she looked taken aback, opening her mouth as if to rescind her offer, although by the way her eyes narrowed suddenly and her jaw set, it wouldn't be without repercussions for Axel to deal with later. "I'm off in thirty," said the man before she could open her mouth and dismiss her offer, "I'll watch your tables and listen in the back for your name, but you can clean the banquet room yourself."

"But it won't take very long and it shouldn't be a very big deal, just va-"

"Clean the damn banquet room yourself, you have until fucking midnight. I've been here since 9:45 in the fucking morning, got it memorized? I'm not cleaning the goddamn banquet room because your poor fuckin' feet hurt after four hours of working." And it was with that that Axel turned on his heel and promptly left, carefully stepping back through the dish room- Avoiding the wet spots, of course- just as his name was called from the kitchens. Thank god. Darting back into the overheated room, Axel groaned as sweat broke out across his brow, momentarily forgetting his visor but darting out and grabbing it before he eyed the pizzas on the table. Axel jammed the hat on his head as he inspected the ticket and crumpled it up, putting it with the other made tickets in the bin before carefully collecting the pizzas in each hand, the large cork preventing him from getting burnt before he nodded soundlessly to the cooks, darting back into the main room.

Back through the maze he weaved, setting the pizzas down at their location and collecting empty glasses, replacing them with new sodas in no time at all. He collected dirty plates, receipts, and even went out of his way to swing by the other waitress' section, smiling charmingly at the people as he nodded and laughed, introducing himself and taking refills and requests as they came. He buzzed right back through the dining area with two trays of drinks, setting them down at table after table, repeating the process of napkin-handing out and fork giver, and as he returned to the server station, he grinned at the act that someone had added substantially to the amount of silverware he had done, writing a note on a napkin _'Will do the rest, go home, asshole_.' in pretty text, which was a surprising feat, considering that napkins were nearly impossible to write on.

Glancing at the blue screen of the computer once more, his heart skipped at the time; was off. Collecting his tickets, he placed them all into check out folders and once more went through the rounds of his tables, setting down their check and smiling apologetically. "No need to rush, I'm not trying to get you outta here or anything, I just gotta clock out and I want to make sure you're all set with the check and everything before you go. Thank you very much for the time, you guys were a wonderful table to have." Repeat times five.

The good thing about putting the tickets out there before they were ready and telling them that he was leaving was that the guests normally quickly went to get a tip so it wouldn't be taken by someone else and never given to him, which had happened more than Axel would care to admit. Normally, the people were so rushed that they slapped a five or a ten into his hand without even realizing it, smiling and telling him to have a nice night. With those five tables alone, the redhead collected about fifty dollars. Waving sarcastically to the cooks, he slid slowly up to his manager. "Oi, I did my list, silverware is mostly taken care of- I think that Olette girl is covering it for me- and I'm off at nine. Say I can go?"

The manager looked up from his paperwork, eyebrows furrowing as he glanced around, shrugging at the crowd before waving a hand. "Go ahead." he said boredly, honestly able to say that he didn't quite give two shits as to what Axel did when he was supposed to be off anyway.

Reporting only fifty dollars in tips, Axel very promptly ignored the girl coming in from her break before he slid out the door to make the 9:15 bus down to his own apartment. Oh, sure, Axel made more than fifty dollars, he damn knew that, but if he made $4.25 an hour, than he had to make at least three dollars an hour in order to make minimum or else the big guys upstairs would get a fair bit tizzed at having to compensate him the rest. About twelve hours by three was about thirty six, so he only reported a bit more than that, so CEOs wouldn't have to worry. Plus, this way he got the vast majority of his tips tax-free. It was perfect, it really was. Even if it was, sort of, a minor case of fraud and tax evasion. Who cared?

As Axel crawled into his dreary loft apartment, he dully heard the absurd sounds of the hard rock and roll the bikers listened to all night, unwrapping his apron from his pretty hips and tearing the tight red and black poly-blend shirt off of his body, sighing at the blissful cool provided by the bar downstairs and his own personal air conditioner hanging out of his window. Axel slouched into a chair right in front of said air conditioning and leaned back, closing shockingly-colored eyes before exhaling deeply, letting his hair down before he fell asleep, sprawled all over the large chair while his bed sat right behind him, waiting to do its job, but never quite getting to. Axel never actually made it there too often.

You know, maybe he should have gone to college. There had to be something better to life than this.

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So, I guess that would be, like, a prologue? Yup.

Read, Critique, Review, whatever you'd like! Thank you kindly!


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